


Best Friends

by glacis



Category: Smallville, Spider-Man (Movieverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-26
Updated: 2010-01-26
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:15:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clark wins a trip to New York City. Lex takes care of business. Peter discovers spiders have a mating season. Harry makes a decision. It's an educational experience for everyone. (Spider-man the Movie/Smallville crossover)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Friends

Best Friends, a Smallville/Spider-Man the Movie crossover by Glacis. Rated NC17. No copyright infringement intended.

 

It was a high school ritual, the last free summer between junior and senior year, the last carefree season before adulthood hit along with graduation. Not being the party-type, Clark planned to spend it the way he'd spent the last two, doing his chores as quickly as he could then zipping away to spend time with his friends.

With Lex. His best friend.

Sometimes he spent time with Pete and Chloe, or Lana, but mainly with Lex. The running battle between his father and his best friend made it tough, and the lies Clark knew Lex knew Clark was telling him made it tougher. But time with Lex was time well spent, no matter how tough it might get

He tried not to think about how hard it got. How hard he got. How, sometimes, he knew Lex knew exactly what those sideways glances and little smirks did to him. He didn't push it. Lex didn't push it. It lay there, simmering, between them. His last free summer looked to be an exciting one.

Then he surprised everybody, and won the state round of the annual math competition, and was faced with a week in New York City defending the pride of Kansas against the rest of the high school math geeks.

"See, Dad?" he'd crowed, just a little. "All that tutoring Lex has been giving me really paid off!" Clark didn't admit he had no idea how he'd won, since he spent most of those tutoring sessions staring at Lex's mouth and trying to keep Lex from seeing the tent in his jeans. Those sessions had been the beginning of a whole range of wet dreams that made him blush in the light of day.

His father'd growled under his breath, but didn't bother arguing. Luckily for Clark, given the farm was barely scraping by, the trip was all-expenses-paid. At least for Smallville High winners. Namely, Clark, the only Smallville High winner. Because of Lex.

Not that he told his dad that part. Neither did the new principal, who'd come on board the year after Mr. Kwan was squashed flat by a vigilante mutant. Mrs. Martinez had taken one look at Lex, a second one at his generosity with his checkbook, and agreed to keep all anonymous gifts exactly that. The only reason Clark knew was because he had super-hearing.

And because he was the only one in Smallville who could read Lex's expression.

Well, it was one way for Lex to give him a present. The only thing that would have made it better was if Lex could go with him. Slumped against the cushions of the couch, staring across the expanse of cream leather at Lex doing the Lex impression of a slump -- boneless sprawl that made Clark look uptight and yet still gave the impression of perfect posture -- Clark tried to find a way to phrase it.

"Wanna come to New York with me?" wasn't the way he intended to say it, but came tumbling out of his mouth without his permission. He blinked, then grinned as brightly as possible, body language screaming 'yes, I'm a geek, but I'm still your best friend, so stop laughing at me.' Lex smirked at him.

"Much as I'd love to accept your invitation, I'm afraid I have business to attend to."

Clark's smile tilted and disappeared. He tried for nonchalance but had a feeling he projected sulky. "Oh. I understand."

Lex's smirk stayed in place, but his eyes softened. Clark perked up.

"You'll have fun," Lex assured him.

"Hanging out at a university with a bunch of math geeks." Clark shrugged.

"You hang out with me," Lex pointed out. "I'm a math geek. Well, more of a science geek, actually, but math comes under that umbrella."

That earned him a sigh, the most heartfelt Clark could summon up. "You're different." Lex raised an eyebrow. Clark felt the blush start up his cheeks and couldn't do a darned thing about it. "In a good way." The brow stayed up. Clark ducked his head and beamed at him. "The best way."

Lex shook his head but let him get away with it, turning the talk to astronomy, firing up his laptop to show Clark some of NASA's latest shots. Not the ones on the public website, but the ones in subdirectories that required passwords. When Clark asked Lex how he knew them, all he got was a smirk and a one word answer.

"Connections."

Clark grinned. Lex had them everywhere.

The trip to New York didn't come up again, and too soon it was time for him to go. Lex disappeared the day before Clark flew out, doing his father's bidding, and Clark tried not to be too disappointed. He distracted himself with his first plane ride, his first taxi ride, his first stay in a four star hotel -- when Lex paid, he didn't mess around -- and his first glimpse of a major research university.

He felt very ... Smallville.

Going with the flow, what he always did when he was out of his depth, which was all too often, Clark plastered a smile across his face and followed the trail of fascinated geeks across the university grounds.

 

Much as he would have loved to induct Clark into the mile high club, Lex did have work to do. He neglected to inform Clark that said business was in New York City. Just as he neglected to let Clark know his expensive hotel room had a hidden camera.

Since Lex had less than zero chance to corrupt his obtuse farmboy friend any other way, at least he'd get a chance to exercise his voyeuristic tendencies. Besides, with his luck, if he tried to get into Clark's pants on the plane, there'd be a flight attendant who was Lana Lang's doppelganger. He'd spend the entire flight watching Clark drool over her and pondering places to hide her body. Or Lana's.

Though since opening the Talon, he'd made sure Lana was too busy to be too great a distraction. Unfortunate that Clark spent so much time there. Perhaps after graduation Ms. Lang would receive a full scholarship to ... anywhere very far from Kansas. Very far from Clark.

Lex suppressed his smile, since devious wasn't the image he meant to project, and schooled his face to reflect business-like sympathy. Young Harry Osborn was a recent orphan, but most importantly for LutherCorp's purposes, he was the sole heir of OsCorp. A nice windfall for Lionel, since he'd wanted OsCorp for years, and the entire board of directors had recently been killed in a freak accident at a public function.

For a moment, Lex daydreamed of something similar happening to Lionel, but knowing his father, the entire city would be leveled and Lionel would still crawl out unharmed from the rubble. Sighing, Lex put away his happy little fantasy of sudden orphanhood and went to shake hands with the young man whose company he'd just raided out from under him.

Sad eyes, was the lingering impression Lex got from Harry. Once past the overwhelming loss -- or perhaps overwhelming emptiness -- in those eyes, other details crowded in, begging his attention. Tall, almost as tall as Lex, though not as tall as Clark. Few were. Broad shoulders, slender build, wavy dark hair, nice tight ass ... again, not in Clark's class, but then, so few were. Still, he was lovely. There was something in the face, the shadow of the cheekbones, the lush curve of the mouth, that made Lex itch.

The way his hand lingered on Lex's skin, it was obvious he was also available.

Lex could make small talk in his sleep, and given the brain-slagging boredom of some of the charity functions he'd attended, no doubt had. He let his drilled-in manners take care of running his mouth while his thoughts led him elsewhere, and his body took up its own agenda. A curve of the mouth, a tilt of the head, a casual brush of hand and shoulder and hip, and Harry Osborn was his.

For the night, anyway. He wouldn't want him any longer than that. The superficial resemblance to Clark was a bonus, but too much of a near thing would quickly become frustrating.

Still, fucking Harry would take the edge off, and he'd return to Smallville a calmer man. He needed all the calm he could get in the slow seduction of the oblivious, and determinedly straight, Clark Kent.

 

Peter Parker was near the end of his rope, and considering the recombinant DNA at work in his body that made him more spider than man, that was saying a lot. Classes were going well, but classes plus crime fighting, plus avoiding MJ since he'd turned her down, plus watching over Harry as he dismantled his father's defunct empire, grieved, and plotted revenge against Peter's alter-ego, while still trying to make enough money to pay the rent while never letting any of the disparate parts of his life collide, since they'd combust on contact much like matter hitting antimatter, left him a little ... on edge.

Picking up odd jobs to tide things over until the paper bought more of his self-portraits, under the guise of free-lancing getting shots of Spider-Man, he found himself at the university one bright Tuesday morning, shepherding out-of-town high schoolers before the Math Olympics. He had fond memories of that competition, since he'd won as a junior, but he'd grown -- in so many ways -- since his high school days. He did his best, and was polite as always, but he was bored out of his skull.

And something was distracting him. Badly.

The kids were okay, nobody got into trouble, everyone seemed wide-eyed and trying their best not to show it, but Peter's eyes were drawn back again and again to a tall, dark-haired, green-eyed boy from Kansas. It wasn't just the fact that the kid was gorgeous. Peter'd recognized male beauty for years; hanging out with Harry Osborn made it impossible to miss.

He'd always been one to crave what he couldn't have.

But it was more than the looks, or the boy -- Clark's -- total cluelessness about how damned cute he was. It was something that sent his spider senses jangling, not in alarm, but in a dancing shivering itch he'd never felt before. Almost as if something in him was responding to something in Clark at a cellular level. It was freaky, freakier than usual, and with his life, that was pretty freaky.

Time to hit the books.

He managed to finish the tour and get the contestants over to the Hall in time for the first round of competition without jumping Clark's bones. It was a close call. Peter had an erection that wouldn't quit, his eyes kept drifting back to Clark and sticking there, and he had the weirdest urge to skittle sideways and hop up and down every time he got within five feet of the kid.

It was unnerving. It was arousing, which was worse than unnerving.

Skipping his next class, a survey in abnormal psych he could easily catch up with later -- particularly given that he could write a book on it, except nobody but a comic publisher would ever accept it -- he hit the library and began to look up everything he could find on spider mating rituals.

It wasn't reassuring. From everything he could find, sex for a male spider was terrifying, brief, and usually fatal. Of course, they were doing it with female spiders, and he was seriously thinking of doing it with a male human, so maybe he wouldn't still be pumping away while Clark was chewing his head off.

At least, he hoped not.

Still, it made sense of what he was feeling. He was a combination of human and three different kinds of spiders, so he could expect all sorts of weirdness to occur as long as he was around Clark. Since it looked like his body had decided that Clark was as close as he was going to get to a female spider, and damned if Peter could figure that one out. His DNA didn't lie, though, and there was something about Clark that turned his spider-self on something fierce.

Maybe it was pheromones. Maybe it was that mouth. Kinda hard to separate the spider-self from the human-self when the kid turned on Peter the man as fiercely as he turned on Peter the spider.

His fingers were skittering across the page, and he realized his entire body was jumping, tiny little completely uncontrollable spasms like an epileptic seizure, only he was conscious and upright, so maybe more like St. Vitas Dance. Not a good sign.

Leaving the books on a cart, mixed up with critical analyses of Whitman and a country study on Greece and a book about the ethical aspects of euthanasia, so nobody would know what he'd been looking up -- paranoia being his way of life -- Peter headed for the open air. The tall buildings. Anywhere, anything, just moving, following his instincts. Perhaps not the best idea, given that those instincts were concentrated on mating, and being in heat made a guy a little crazy.

He realized this when he deposited a web-wrapped, terrified burglar at Clark Kent's feet.

Clark, who'd apparently been on his way to buy a souvenir, stopped dead on the sidewalk in the middle of Manhattan and stared at the crook wetting his pants -- and the web -- in front of him. Peter closed his eyes, blushed hard enough to feel like it was burning through his mask, made a choked noise, and webbed away as fast as his spinnerets could take him. Let the cops find the crook. Eventually. Peter couldn't go back, pick him up and drop him off where he belonged. Clark was still standing there. Looking at him.

Bad beginning to the evening. Unfortunately, it didn't get any better.

Adrenaline and spidey hormones running full speed ahead, Peter stayed out all night, rounding up muggers, home invasion burglars, a car jacker or two, a trio of bank robbers, and a homeless guy he ended up apologizing to and dropping back on a park bench. When daylight broke he headed home, exhausted, keeping a weather eye out for Harry, since he didn't want to have to explain why he was missing classes in order to sleep all day after being out all night.

No problem. Harry was off at a breakfast business meeting with some honcho from the Midwest, signing over his dad's business. Probably for the best, since Harry didn't have the head for the science Norman'd had -- before he dosed himself with his own formula, went whacko evil and tried to take over the world -- so somebody else running OsCorp was a good idea as far as Peter was concerned.

The absence of his best friend made for fewer questions, too. Still, by early afternoon, Peter was slept out and wired up again. Something pulled him toward campus, and it wasn't his classes. Still, he dutifully went to the two he had that afternoon, then wandered with deliberate purpose over to the hall where the math competition was being held. They were on the third round, semi-finals, and Peter slumped into an empty chair in the back row, telling himself he was just hanging out to see who went on to the next round.

Right. Even **he** didn't buy that one.

His timing was right, though, as he watched Clark lose out to a kid named Belle from Nevada. Clark didn't look all that bummed. In fact, he looked distracted. Almost as distracted as Peter felt.

And he was looking right at Peter.

In an instant, all the banked-down urge to _MOVE_ roared up with a vengeance. After trying to fight it for a good twenty minutes, watching Clark leave the stage, still watching Peter and it was a wonder he didn't trip and kill himself, it was too much. Peter bolted from his seat and headed for an isolated part of the parking garage where he knew the cameras didn't reach. In moments, his clothes were off and balled up in his backpack, and Spider-Man -- after carefully stashing the backpack in a handy dark corner -- went on the prowl.

It was like there was a thread of spider silk binding them, the way he knew right where Clark was, the way Clark knew where he was even when there was no way he could see Peter, as far up the side of the buildings as Peter was. For some crazy reason, Peter felt Clark's eyes on him, and he began to web in intricate loops, swinging back and forth between buildings in a tight, concentric circle until he'd created the most intricate web he'd ever seen. The angle was perfect; the sunlight played through it like a prism, breaking into all the colors of the spectrum, and it was dazzlingly beautiful.

Wasn't enough. Peter found himself crawling again, sideways up walls, head over heels back down them, hopping from one building to another like he was doing some kind of bizarre ballet. It felt good, felt right, felt really sexy, and the fact that he knew Clark could see him against all logic made it feel ... perfect.

He kept dancing between the buildings, darting closer and closer to Clark, until their eyes met, though Clark wouldn't know it with the mask Peter wore. Finally he dropped down beside Clark in an alley, safe from prying eyes, and did what his spider-senses had been whooping at him to do for the past two days.

Swooped over, grabbed Clark up, spider-walked with his burden a good thirty feet up the wall and turned Clark to face the bricks. Held him there with his body while his hands shot up and his spinnerets spat web until Clark was secured to the side of the building. Dropped Clark's pants down to his knees, opened his own costume, and worked his way home.

Clark didn't say a word, other than assorted squeaks and "What the--" and an occasional "Oh, my!" The last when Peter first breached him. More of a moan than a comment, really, since his voice dropped an octave and two words took about twenty syllables and a good thirty seconds. Peter was gentle but inexorable, feet planted firmly outside Clark's knees, holding them both in place as he thrust, hands planted equally as firmly beside Clark's shoulders, face burrowing against Clark's back, mouthing him through the mask and the shirt that separated them.

The stray thought struck Peter that their coupling would look uncannily spider-like, given the differences in their respective size. Clark was a good ten inches taller than Peter, though Peter was about as broad through the shoulders as Clark. Plus the posture would give it away, the way Peter was hunched over Clark's larger body, shorter arms and legs pinning Clark in place as Peter humped and thrust, and Clark barely moved.

Probably just as well, since if he **had** moved the web might not hold, and free falling while fucking wasn't a thrill Peter sought.

Didn't matter, though, because he was definitely getting off on it, going by the way his ass shoved back every time Peter shoved forward, and the unmistakable stream of "god, yes, oh, god, Lex, oh god, yes" that fell from his mouth. Deep in the throes of the male spider need to mate or die and the male human inability to think once his dick was engaged, Peter didn't much care that Clark was moaning another guy's name while he was taking it from Peter. They were both getting into it, and that was what mattered.

Then Clark shuddered, and clamped so hard around his cock Peter thought, _'Shit! It happens with humans too! I'm gonna die! Or at least have it pinched right off!'_ Except he didn't. The clutch around his cock softened and moved, like Clark's ass was trying to eat him, and despite the fresh wave of panic, brought on by too much research and not enough field experience, Peter came.

Hard enough it was a damned good thing his webbing was so strong, or they both would have tumbled off the wall.

After a white out, or a near death experience -- with an orgasm that strong it was tough to tell -- Peter cuddled against Clark's back and tried to remember how to breathe. To his immense relief, he was alive; Clark wasn't a female spider in a male human suit who was luring him in only to fuck then be eaten. His cock was still attached, and quite happy with the nice hot tight place it was still halfway inside. Nobody'd noticed them. Yet.

Very gently, inhaling sweat and musk through the drenched tee shirt beneath his mask, Peter worked Clark's arms free from the webbing. He was shaking, more drained from the workout than he'd expected, and in a heart-stopping instant after he'd freed Clark, he lost hold of the large, damp body.

Clark's fingers drilled right through the brick and held them both in place before Peter could raise an arm to shoot another anchor web.

Feeling his eyebrows try to climb right off his face under the mask, Peter shot the anchor anyway, and carefully pried Clark away from the wall. Step at a time, eyes glued to Clark's blushing, sweaty face, ringed with dark curls and full of wide eyes and bitten lips, Peter brought them to the safety of ground level.

They had to talk. He was dying to know how Clark had done the finger-drilling-through-brick trick. But Peter wasn't quite sure how to ask. Conversational skills weren't his strong suit even when he hadn't just kidnapped a guy, webbed him to a wall and fucked him silly. Asking about superpowers on top of that might be a bit much.

Nevertheless, he opened his mouth to ask, or apologize, or thank Clark for a great ride, or all of the above, when Clark turned and looked at him. Or maybe through him, going by the way his eyes suddenly resembled lasers. After a moment, during which Peter stood opening and closing his mouth and hoping his mask wasn't stretching out of shape while he tried to figure out some sort of opening gambit for the talk they really needed to have, Clark smiled at him.

A big, bright, goofy grin that made Peter forget what few words he'd managed to come up with. Peter grinned back, then shook his head.

"You know, if you wanted a date, all you had to do was ask." Clark leaned a shoulder against the wall, wincing a little as his ass shifted, and Peter bit his tongue.

"Uh," he replied intelligently. "Wanna come home with me?" came out next, and not for the first time he was grateful he'd made his mask red, because otherwise his blush would be visible right through it. For miles. He was trying to find a better way to say that, not make Clark sound so much like an abandoned puppy, when Clark flashed that smile at him again and short-circuited his brain.

"No. How about you come home with me?" From the way Clark was blushing, that hadn't come out quite the way he'd intended, either. Or maybe it had, if the next thing he said was anything to go by. "I have a **great** hotel room. Big bed. Lots of room."

"I have a roommate," Peter admitted. Clark cocked his head. Reached into his pocket, and handed a keycard to Peter.

"That's the spare to my room. Don't lose it. Number 715. Eight o'clock tonight. I have to get back to the university."

Peter watched him all the way out the alley.

Then webbed to the top of the next building, then the next, then the next, and watched him all the way back to the Hall.

That ass was worth watching.

Three hours never passed so slowly.

 

It wasn't quite what Clark had been expecting when he'd come to New York. But then, getting pounced on by a mutant spider-man, tied to the wall with spider web and thoroughly fucked wasn't something he thought would happen in New York.

Smallville, maybe. Greg'd been close, but he'd been straight. And he'd eaten his mother. Clark blinked down at the key card as he let himself into his room after an interminable afternoon of post-fucking math and cardboard chicken dinner. He sure hoped Peter didn't eat his relatives.

Although Greg had always been weird, even before the meteor-infected bugs got him, and Peter seemed like a pretty normal guy. Aside from dressing up in red and blue spandex, spinning webs, and gluing guys to buildings to have sex with them.

Memory, in his head and his ass, made him grin. Well, if Peter tried to eat him, and not in a good way, Clark would just drop him out the window. He shot webs. He'd be fine.

He washed brick dust out from under his fingernails and hoped Peter hadn't seen him break the wall as he'd grabbed hold of it. The thing was, he wasn't so sure about his ability to float on command, and he didn't want to have to explain how he could take a thirty foot drop with his jeans wrapped around his knees and not break anything. He looked down at his cock.

Hopefully not break anything. There were some things he didn't want to test.

He also hoped Peter wouldn't ask how Clark knew who it was under the spandex mask. Cool outfit, too. Showed off all those muscles. Clark swallowed the sudden build-up of spit in his mouth and licked his lips. He really didn't want to have to explain that Peter's skeleton had strange striations of red and blue in it, that he'd been caught by it the first time they'd met, and that he'd recognized it as soon as he turned around. Kind of hard to tell a guy a suit doesn't disguise much from someone who can see skeletons.

Maybe that was why he felt this connection to Peter, and Peter obviously felt one for him. Maybe Peter was an alien too, one from a planet of spider-people instead of really strong, really fast people. Made as much sense as anything else he could come up with. He might ask. If Peter asked about the bricks.

They could keep each other's secrets if it came down to it. He really hoped it didn't.

It had to be something like that. It wasn't every day ... in fact, never ... that people he'd just met shoved him up against the wall and had sex with him. There were times since he'd met Lex that he'd had the weird feeling Lex might _WANT_ to, and there'd been a lot of times he'd wanted to do it to Lex, but what happened with Peter was a little extreme.

Maybe it was spider-people mating season or something.

Didn't explain why Clark liked it so much, though. Not that it needed a lot of explanation. He glanced up at the mirror and winced when he saw how hard he was blushing. Unable to meet his own eyes, he looked back down at the sink. He'd gotten into it so darned much because, for him, it hadn't been Peter doing that to him. Opening him up, pounding into him, making him feel more human than he'd ever felt.

It'd been Lex.

Reminding himself firmly that cracking the solid marble sink with his clenched fists would be a Really Bad Idea, Clark peeled his fingers back away from the endangered stone and carefully turned off the water. He'd think about Lex later.

First, there was Peter.

As if his thought conjured up the reality, a card slid through the lock, and the door opened. Standing in the doorway was Peter, body language screaming 'innocuous and studious and normal' as it had the first time Clark met him. The costume did kind of defeat the purpose of the pose, of course. Clark grinned.

"Come in, shut the door, get naked," he invited.

Peter didn't need to be told twice. The door shut and latched behind him, his fingers busy at his suit, and Clark did the same, stripping off at a fraction above standard speed, consciously holding himself back from using super speed. He was turned on all over again, and the only thing he could think about was getting Peter on that bed and inside him.

Fingers hesitated at the edge of the mask. Clark crossed the room and stood in front of Peter, completely naked, grinning like an idiot and no way to stop it.

"It's okay, Peter. You can take it off. Easier to kiss you that way. Plus, you look really strange with nothing on but your mask, and that's not one of my kinks." Black leather driving gloves, that was his kink. Fencing suits, with all those buckles, yeah. Patriotic spandex? Not really.

"How'd you know?" Peter mumbled as he took off the mask.

"Body type," Clark lied instantly. Peter gave him a look that broadcast disbelief loudly enough to be heard in Kansas. Clark shrugged. "Do you want to talk, or try out the bed?" He was feeling brazen. First times with relative strangers apparently did that to him. It was nice not to be stumbling over his tongue. Or his feet.

Neither were a problem as Peter closed the few inches between them, reached up on tip-toe, grabbed Clark by the hair, pulled him down, and kissed him thoroughly. Clark didn't even think about it. He reached down, wrapped his arms around Peter's waist, hoisted him up until Peter wrapped his legs around Clark's waist, and carried him that way over to tumble onto the bed.

Still kissing.

Maybe Peter was an alien after all, because it was a very long time before they came up for air, and then it was only so Peter could latch his mouth onto Clark's chest. Then his belly. Clark wanted to do something, wanted to hold something, but instinct made him dig his hands into the mattress. Alien or not, Clark didn't want to break Peter, and not having done this before, he didn't trust himself to keep his strength under control.

Then Peter made it a moot point by sucking Clark's cock all the way down his throat and draining all the strength out of him along with practically every drop of fluid in Clark's system.

He hadn't realized how close he was to coming. All that thinking about Lex in the bathroom before Peter arrived really primed the pump. Shaking his head at the farmer analogies that flowed through his brain even as Peter finished sucking him dry, Clark started to say thanks. Realized his mouth was already open and wondered what he'd been yelling as Peter'd been sucking. Hoped Peter hadn't paid any more attention than he had, because he had a sinking suspicion he'd been screaming Lex's name.

Again.

Peter crawled up his body, and Clark shivered at the feel of thousands of tiny sticky pins blunting against his skin. Before Peter could ask, or comment, or whatever he'd been going to say, Clark grabbed him and kissed him until even Clark felt light headed.

The way Peter's cock poked him in the belly, it was pretty obvious Peter enjoyed it. All of it.

"How d'you want me?" Clark asked, feeling receptive to anything Peter wanted to do, with the possible exception of any sort of eating other than what Peter'd already done.

"Turn over," Peter rasped, still gasping for air. Clark grinned at him. Peter gulped.

Once on his belly, stuffing a pillow under his hips to give his half-hard cock something to push against, Clark looked back over his shoulder. "Uhm, like this?"

He felt a little silly sprawled out like that. Peter obviously didn't think he looked stupid, though. In fact, from the way Peter was looking at his ass, it was a wonder it didn't catch fire. It was Clark's turn to gulp.

"Take hold ..." Peter paused, swallowed, then continued in a much less squeaky voice, "take hold of the headboard."

Probably a good idea, if the mattress was going to survive this. Clark obediently grabbed hold of the top of the board, then heard a 'sssft' and watched as a glob of silken stuff landed around his wrists, effectively tying his arms above his head. He tugged.

It barely gave.

Something a little feral inside him howled its approval.

He spread his legs without thinking, and heard Peter lose what breath he'd managed to regain. Then Peter started kissing him, licking and nuzzling all over his back, down his sides to his ass.

"Harder!" Clark told him. The feathery touches were making him crazy, and he needed more. "Bite me!" He had no idea where that came from, but it felt right, and it didn't sound like an insult. More like a command. That Peter followed.

God, that felt good. Bites that might sting, should probably be breaking skin but he'd explain that later if he had to, as well as the bricks. Teeth mauling him, or doing their damnedest, all over his ass and even, oh mercy me, right where Peter'd fucked him so well a few hours before.

Nobody'd ever touched him there, until Peter, and never with a tongue. He didn't think anybody'd want to. Now that Peter was, Clark never ever wanted him to stop.

He was vaguely aware that he was crying out, moaning and whimpering, and part of him felt a little humiliated, but mostly it was too darned hot to worry about anything as petty as shame. Peter's tongue and teeth worked at his hole until Clark was close to coming again, just from that, when suddenly it all went away.

"No!" Clark screamed. "Don't stop! What the fuck are you doing?"

His mother would wash his mouth out with Ivory for that. But then, his mother should never know what he was doing when he said it. Squashing all thoughts of his mother as completely inappropriate to his current activities, and not even going to what his dad would think about all this, Clark deliberately shut off his brain. Spread his legs as far as he could get them. Arched his back.

And yelled, "Fuck me! Now!"

Thankfully, Peter was back a moment later. With hand lotion. And a condom. Had Clark been in any state to feel anything other than pure horny desperation, he would have been really embarrassed. Of course Peter would think he needed lube. Clark managed not to roar at him to get on with it, and sighed with pure unadulterated satisfaction when Peter sank into him up to the balls.

He stayed still for a moment, not what Clark wanted, though if his mind had still been functioning he would have appreciated the consideration regardless of how little he needed it. As it was, he bucked back, almost hard enough to toss Peter off, and Peter got the idea.

And moved.

Out, all the way, until just the head stretched him, and Clark whimpered some more. Wriggled his ass like a bitch in heat, didn't give a tinker's damn that he did, and moaned in sheer pleasure when Peter shoved back in. Out again, and in, with a deliberate pace that was just right to make Clark completely nuts. It felt like it went on for hours, but eventually Peter had to give in, had to move faster, as Clark tightened his ass and tried his best to suck Peter's cock into his body and keep it there.

The pace picked up, and Peter slammed in and out of Clark as hard as he could, so hard his legs were shaking against Clark's, and it was enough. It was good, so good Clark's eyes closed and his brain supplied a completely different scenario. His body was in New York getting fucked through the mattress by Peter Parker, but his mind was in Smallville, in Luthor Castle, on that wide firm bed he'd only glimpsed, tied to the bed posts, with Lex draped over his back.

Heaven.

He buried his face in the pillow as he came, knowing positively even if he hadn't yelled Lex's name the first time he came he was going to do it this time. Thankfully the feathers muffled his cry, and he relaxed into the movement as Peter kept at him for a few more strokes. Feeling like he was floating, Clark instinctively looked down to make sure he wasn't, and blessed Peter for the web keeping him in place.

Then Peter buried his face against Clark's back, yelled something about it being hairy thus proving he'd lost his mind, and pumped into Clark. For a long time. So long Clark thought for certain Peter was shooting his brains out. Long enough Clark started to get hard again.

Oh, yeah. Vacation in the big city. He was learning **so** much.

He couldn't wait to get home and share it all with Lex.

 

Even on the hunt, business came first, and it was three days of corporate discussions, plant inspections, and scientific patter Lex understood much better than Harry did by the confused look on the boy's face, before it was time to play. Dinner was excellent, light but filling. On the limo ride back to the Luthor penthouse, he kissed that mouth that reminded him so much of Clark.

It was sweet, not as sweet as his fantasies, but enough for the moment. Harry moaned into his mouth, hands scrabbling at the leather seats then at the lavender silk of Lex's shirt, and Lex allowed a predatory smile to emerge. As near to a virgin as made no difference, some schoolboy fumbling aside, no doubt, and that made it all the better.

All that much easier to pretend it was Clark.

The cock under his hand was leaking already, so Lex opened the zip and lowered his head. Harry's hands slid off his skull as he sucked, and he glanced up to see a lovely sight; Harry's head pushed back against the seat, throat flushed, chest heaving as he groaned and gasped for air. In the near darkness, it could almost be Clark.

Before Lex could slip into fantasy, safe enough when his mouth was full so he couldn't scream the wrong name, Harry arched under his hands and shot down his throat with a loud cry. Lex closed his eyes and worked his throat around the spasming cock, allowing most of the fluid to leak back out and wet down Harry's balls. He smirked as he pulled away, the large stain in Harry's slacks amusing him. Glancing up at Harry's face, his smirk broadened.

Harry was looking at him as if he was the Second Coming. "Not yet, but soon," he said softly in response to his thoughts, and Harry gave him a confused but interested smile.

Dumb as a brick, this one. Just as well. It made for easier business and uncomplicated sex, both of which Lex could use. The driver kept his poker face as they exited the limo, long used to sexual hijinks in the back seat, and Lex swept Harry into the private elevator for a prolonged kissing session as it shot to the penthouse level. One hand swirling over Harry's wet, sensitive balls, the other clutching a handful of those thick dark curls, and his tongue making a meal out of Harry's mouth made the trip all too quick.

Numbers punched in the key pad, door falling open behind Lex's back then slamming shut as he pushed Harry up against it, and the kiss kept going where they'd left off. Harry was panting like a puppy on a hot summer day and Lex had to admit he wasn't far behind by the time they made it to the bedroom.

Abruptly he broke contact, leaving Harry standing a foot away, hair tousled, lips swollen, shirt undone, tie hanging loose, hands clenching and unclenching, trousers tenting over the returning erection, making the wet splash on the expensive wool even more obvious. Lex felt his eyelids droop and licked his lips, smirking hungrily at Harry.

The erection jumped under the force of that look.

Harry's knees also weakened, because he swayed. Lex put out one hand and grabbed his shoulder hard enough to bruise.

"Strip," he commanded. Harry gulped. Blushed, sending a shiver up Lex's spine and making his cock tingle, as a mental image of Clark overlaid Harry's face, the blush coloring both. When Harry stood there, Lex shook him gently. "Go on," he urged, his voice low and husky. "Take off your clothes. For me."

Harry made a sound like a rusty door, and shakily raised his hands to his shirt buttons. Lex mirrored the movement, and Harry's blush subsided, replaced by an expression almost as feral as the one Lex knew was on his own face. Every button undone, every inch of material Harry shed, Lex mimicked, until they stood, face to face, naked, surrounded by piles of clothing.

Lex made the first move to close the distance. Of course. Harry was nearly smooth, so young, not more than nineteen, just a year or so older than Clark. Being a city boy, he didn't have the impressive farm-bred muscles filling out Clark's physique, but he was a runner, or a swimmer, and his body was pleasantly firm beneath Lex's hands.

Responsive, too, as his fingers skated over a nipple, and it drew to a peak. Harry quivered at his touch, and Lex leaned down to cover the nipple with his mouth. The first nip caused Harry to buck against him, and Lex grinned around the flesh trapped between his teeth. A short pull, bringing Harry's hands up to clutch at his arms, then a licking apology, and the exploration was on.

Pushing Harry back onto the bed, easy enough to do as he was close to collapsing already, Lex followed him down, not letting his mouth or hands lose contact with all that soft skin. Trailing kisses along his chest, leaving vivid red bite marks when Harry least expected it, Lex took his time and enjoyed himself.

After all, the last time he'd had sex had been Victoria. While it had been a very satisfactory business in the end, it wasn't easy to lose oneself in the senses when one was constantly watching for a knife in the back. Of course, Lex was an expert at exactly that, but it was wearing. Particularly when he had to bite his tongue until it ached to keep from yelling Clark's name when she went down on him.

Knowing damned well he was obsessing, he went with it, and took out all the frustration he had with not being able to touch Clark by touching Harry everywhere, over and over, until Harry was on the brink of coming again. Then Lex drew back, blowing softly over goose-pimpled skin, calming Harry until the haze died from his eyes, before starting all over.

It was fun. Harry might stroke out from sheer sexual frustration by the time Lex was ready to finish it, but Lex was enjoying himself.

Eventually, his own erection had enough of the teasing, and Lex settled down between Harry's legs to swallow his cock again. One hand rolled sticky testicles gently from side to side while the other slipped further back between Harry's wide-spread thighs to probe at his hole. It didn't take long before Lex had two fingers up to the first knuckle, and with a little rhythmic stroking from both sides, Harry bucked wildly and shot again.

Lex drew back, catching a taste of the fluid before allowing the rest to drip back between Harry's legs. Working it into the hole clenching around his fingers, Lex dropped a kiss on the end of Harry's cock and pulled his hand out long enough to turn Harry over, prone on the bed, a feast to Lex's eyes.

Yes, the ass was as fine in all its naked glory as it had promised stretching those thin woolen slacks. Lex grinned, bundled a handy pillow beneath Harry's stomach, and said quietly, "Hang on."

Harry's hands clenched in the pillow as Lex canted his hips up and came to his knees between Harry's legs, lining himself up and sinking deeply into Harry's body. It was tight, virginal heat, and Lex closed his eyes and forgot who he was fucking.

He kept pressing until he was all the way in, balls crushed against the soft muscular pads of the ass beneath him, hands running up and down the back below his belly, then up to bury themselves in the thick hair as Lex lowered his face and bit into the nape so temptingly before his mouth.

A moment, to allow accommodation, take away the sting and burn, leave nothing but the pleasure. Then his body, strung out like wire and ready to move, prompted his hips to sway. Lex kept his mouth where it was, licking and biting the salt-sweat skin beneath it, as he thrust, gradually speeding up until he was slamming into the now wide-open body humping up to meet him.

The shift in muscles and tightening around him told him Harry was stroking himself, and Lex let him get on with it, concentrating on the sensation of heat and pressure around his cock, letting nothing else penetrate the sensual fog engulfing his brain.

When he came, he wasn't in a luxurious bed in a penthouse high above Manhattan with the brat of one of his father's business rivals. He was in a barn, surrounded by hay and dirt and tractor parts, hunched over a broken-down couch, buried to the balls in Clark Kent, on his way to heaven.

Eventually, he came back to reality. Slumped over the sweating, trembling back, Lex nuzzled and waited for Harry to finish. Orgasm clenched Harry's hole, and Lex slipped out, listening with interest as Harry made the mistake Lex had, years before, learned coping mechanisms to avoid. When Harry had calmed, and Lex slid off his back to lie beside him, he glanced over at Harry's flushed face. Sweat gleamed off his skin, damp curls clung to his forehead, and he looked precisely what he was -- thoroughly fucked.

"So," Lex asked conversationally, "Who's Peter?"

The flush became a wildfire blush as Harry's eyes widened and he stared at Lex in horror.

"Wha--?" he croaked.

"When you came," Lex pointed out helpfully. "You screamed his name. Anybody I know?"

Harry's eyes closed and an expression of pure misery crossed his face. "My ... my best friend."

Lex winced in sympathy. "I know how that goes." Harry cracked one eye open and stared at him, but Lex refused to elucidate. He leaned over and dropped a quick kiss on Harry's gaping mouth, then said, "It was fun. Thanks. Shower's through that door," waving over his shoulder. "Be out by nine."

The kid was still gaping at him when Lex walked, unselfconsciously naked, from the guest room to the privacy of his own bedroom. Altogether a satisfactory trip. OsCorp was Lionel's, Lex'd had Harry, now it was time for a thorough shower to wash away the sticky residue and to check in on Clark.

 

Harry watched Lex stalk away, in all his glowing hairless naked glory, and tried to remember how to swallow. It'd been a long time since he'd had sex with a guy, and he'd only been fifteen at the time, and his schoolmate hadn't known any more than he had. Sure, it'd been enough to get him kicked out of yet another exclusive private school, but other than that, it hadn't been all that exciting.

Lex, now _LEX,_ had been exciting.

So damned exciting Harry'd completely forgotten where he was at and who he was with, taken to a fantasy land where it hadn't been Lex turning him inside out, but Peter.

Peter, who'd become the only anchor in his existence, since Spider-Man came on the scene and murdered his father. Since MJ turned out to be as faithless as he'd expected, although he couldn't really blame her for wanting Peter, since he did himself. Since he'd looked up from his father's grave to see Peter's pale face, sad eyes locked with his, and known that the only person in his life he would ever trust was his best friend.

He'd had his first wet dream about Pete that night. Well, the first one he consciously remembered. He had the feeling he'd had others shortly after they'd first met, but Peter was hung up on MJ at the time and Harry was still trying to convince himself he was straight.

All it took was eight months of dating MJ and one night with Lex Luthor to set him right on that score. As if all the Technicolor, porn-quality dreams of Pete hadn't been clue enough.

Sighing, Harry rolled out of the wet spot and wandered to the shower. Lex hadn't been cruel, but he'd been firm, and it was just as well. Harry couldn't use Lex to take his mind off Peter; Lex wouldn't let him. Besides, from the wistful look he'd glimpsed in Lex's eyes in the split second before he blanked all expression from them, Harry had a pretty good idea Lex had his own version of Peter. A best friend, a trusted friend, a friend he wanted to tumble into bed and never let get dressed.

Oh, yeah. Harry had it bad. Now if only he could find a way to bring it up to Peter. It wasn't like they had a lot of secrets from one another, and this was a pretty big one. But he'd do what he could.

Or he'd go crazy one night and just jump him. He was grinning as he dressed and let himself out of Luthor's penthouse. It might be worth it to see the look on Pete's face when Harry went down on him. The thought made him drool a little. Of course, Peter could also die of heart failure, punch him in the face or never speak to him again. Harry frowned.

This required thought. Planning. Caution.

A whole heck of a lot of his dad's best booze.

But it could be done. And he would do it! It would all work out. He wouldn't lose Peter. They'd just be best friends ... with benefits.

 

Settling back against the pillows, Lex pulled a sheet over his bare legs and cradled his cock comfortably in his left hand. Fantasy time again. He clicked the remote on with his right hand and looked over at the monitor. Even if it was just watching Clark sleep, it was well worth ...

His fingers tightened involuntarily around his cock. His mouth fell open, as the room suddenly had no air and his head swam. Clark lay sprawled across the king-sized bed in much the same pose Harry'd taken a couple hours earlier as a stocky, very muscular brunet pounded into his ass. Clark's hands were tied to the headboard with some kind of silky material, his head was thrown back, his legs spread as wide as they could go, and it looked like they went on for miles. His ass made every other ass Lex had ever seen seem puny by comparison, and the vigor with which it was being reamed made his cock sit up and take notice.

Oh, god. Clark wasn't so straight after all. And he liked to take it, to spread his legs and submit, to beg for it. Part of Lex mourned the virginity he wouldn't have the chance to take. The rest of him, the majority of him, exulted in his new knowledge. On the screen, Clark humped helplessly back as the other man fucked him hard. Lex felt a huge grin spreading over his face.

Clark was learning all sorts of things in the big city that Lex would take shameless advantage of once they got back to Smallville.

And that tape was going in the most secure safe he had once he was back to the castle. If he ever stopped watching it. Running his hand over his aching cock, he licked dry lips and stared at Clark Kent shaking and coming all over the sheets, and knew it wouldn't be very long at all before he'd be doing the exact same thing in a barn, surrounded by hay, on a beaten-up old couch. Underneath Lex Luthor.

 

Three days later, Clark stopped off at the castle, full of all sorts of details about his trip, the university, the competition, not saying a word about the most interesting parts. But that was fine with Lex, as he had them all on tape ... most of them memorized after watching them compulsively every night. He draped himself over the end of the leather sofa and smirked at Clark, looking at him through his lashes, inwardly cheering at the glitter in Clark's eyes and the blush rising on his cheeks.

"So, how was New York?" Lex asked, flirting madly.

Clark smirked back, expression uncannily reminiscent of Lex's own. "Very ... educational."

No doubt about that. Lex inched forward. Clark held his ground, though his smirk slid into a wide grin, and his blush deepened.

"Any plans for tonight? Lana? Chloe?" Lex gave an evil grin as he asked the question, and Clark's grin got a shade confused.

"No," he said slowly, "just going to hang out in the loft."

"Want company?"

The confusion melted away and the grin came back full force. "Sure!"

Lex grinned back.

Perfect.

_END_

_NOTES_: the mating rituals Peter endures include variations of the jumping spiders' ritual dance, funnel spiders' gift and crab spiders' bondage.

Wrapped prey items offered by the male to the female has also been well documented with numerous researchers (Robinson 1982).

Ritualistic bondage is another method which has developed in a few crab spiders (Xysticus and Tibellus). The male "ties" the female down with some strands of silk, but they are only for show because she exhibits no sign of strain nor struggle to free herself after copulation (Foelix 1982).

"Spectacular postures and exaggerated movements...are involved in presenting visual information to the female" (Witt 1982) Visual displays are a common behavior seen in wolf spiders (Lycosids) and jumping spiders (Salticids). Jumping spiders use both visual displays and color badges in intricate courtships of postures, and movements. Jumping spiders have even developed an approach of a male towards the female that has been called the "zigzagging dance" due to the pattern of his movements it viewed from above while the dance is performed (Foelix 1982). From various sources (I know the dear reader is here for the smut, not the bibliography, so I didn't bother).

**Just for fun :**

Spider-Man Shocked by Basic Facts of Arachnid Sex

NEW YORK (DPI) - While TV surfing today, Spider-Man was horrified to discover that the sex life of spiders is terrifying and brief, at least from the male spider's point of view. A Nature Channel documentary revealed that it is common for female spiders to devour their mates. "Whoa! Male spiders throw themselves into the jaws of the female while doing it, and keep right on pumping as their bodies are devoured!" stated the visibly-shaken webslinger. "Something about their lives being pretty much over once they've mated, so they cash it in while on top. Man, wish I'd been bitten by a radioactive weasel." From http://www.dailyprobe.com/

 


End file.
